This is My Masterpiece.

My greatest work.

I will finish this as best I can, and nothing will eclipse it.

I am the Devourer.

You may have heard my stories. Of crushing kingdoms and belittling gods.

But none of you know me. None of you have heard the true story.

And I grow tired of the falsities people so easily believe.

So, this is My Masterpiece. My final announcement to the world.

Gods, I’m tired of running.

I am the Devourer, and this is my legacy.

Chapter One:

“Who are you, and what do you want?,” I asked my cloaked, black-masked visitor.

He smiled in return, a mysterious smile that I didn’t appreciate. “It is nice to meet the Devourer.”

I glanced around me, noting the wooden walls and floor of my anteroom. Then the expensive chairs, scrollwork curling up their sides. Why did everything always have to be so flammable? Nevermind.

The man noted the crystalline blade forming in my left hand and waved his own appendages as if to ward me off. As if he could. “No, wait!”, he cried, the perfect picture of desperation. As if that would stop me.

“Do you have any idea of how long I’ve hid?,” I asked with the coldest voice I could muster. “The world hates me. What’s another life taken so I can live my own in peace?”

As I spoke my words, my voice cracked, and I hardened the resolve in my heart. I couldn’t falter now, after I’d already won the war.

The stranger took off his cloak and black mask, letting both fall to the ground in puddles of inky cloth. “The world’s in chaos. It needs you back.”

I rose to my full height, the blade pausing in its creation for a single moment. I could have formed it faster, but… I gave it a glance. I realized I didn’t quite want to kill again, no matter how hard I made myself. “You’ve heard what they say. I caused this to happen. What makes you think I can help? If I go out there, I’ll see people rioting as far as the eye can see. All of them will be hellbent on one thing. My death, and the resurrection of Divinity.”

The stranger watched me from the doorway as the sword I was holding shattered and dissipated into the air. He was fair, with deep green eyes and stubble on his chin. Green robes fit him perfectly, falling all the way to the floor. I eyed the dirt on them. The boy’d been traveling. “I heard accounts of your deeds from my grandfather. He was a part of your organization. One of its generals, in fact.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I turned around. “I owe the sons of my generals enough courtesy to let them live. Leave, and don’t come back. If you know what I’ve done, you know that I’ve killed many without blinking an eye.”

The son reached for my shoulder, fully visible to my magic-enhanced senses. I let him grab it. His robes reached the floor, dragging slightly as he addressed me once more. “My Lady, please at least tell me your story so I can show it to the world. You deserve to be known kindly.”

I was about to tell him to get out of my house, but paused. I turned. “I haven’t been called that in… forever.”

The boy blinked. “My Lady?”

“Get out.”

The boy left, a sad look painted over his face. I raised my hand, ready to ward the building against him, to stop him from coming back, but paused. I dropped my hand and dragged myself back towards the depths of my house. When I reached my destination, I found myself staring at the walls. My feet ominously tapped against the floor as I stood, alone, in my Painting Room. What’s gotten into you this time, Allina?

The boy came back the next day. I eyed him in the doorway, holding the door open. “Why are you back?”

“My Lady, I would like to ask once again-”

I shut the door on his face. Then I went to my kitchen, grabbing one of my last few tea bags from my pantry. A cup floated to me, filling with water before I dunked the tea bag in. The water started boiling, and I nodded in satisfaction. After about an hour-mostly to drink the tea-I opened the door once more.

Rain was pounding the grassy field outside my home. The boy still stood outside, his eyes hopeful. I went to close the door on him again, but he grabbed it. “Please.”

I was about to close the door despite his plea, then stopped. Then I stepped aside, a silent invitation for him to enter. No more running.

I easily remedied the boy’s sodden robes, drying them in an instant as I led him to my living room. The thought of throwing him out crossed me–multiple times, I must say–but I never went through with it. When we were finally seated at my table, the boy seemed to expect tea, settling back and simply watching me for a moment before he realized who he was with and who, exactly, he was expecting to make tea for him.

He sat forward in a respectful manner as I inspected him. There was a… determination in his gaze, hidden beneath his boyish ignorance. I knew, at that moment, no matter how many times I threw him out, he would not back down. He’d just wait in the rain until he died. Best to get it over with, eh?

“Where did you learn to call me ‘My Lady’?”

The boy jerked, the silence between us having gotten too long for me to simply shatter it so suddenly. “Uh… My Lady?”

I pointed at him. “Yes, that. Where’d you learn it? Your grandfather? And why are you using it now?”

The boy looked at me for a second, and, to my surprise, got out of his seat to kneel. “My grandfather told me that you were always to be addressed as ‘My Lady’ and nothing else, as befitting of your status. To me, you are still the Nightmare of the Buried Tower, the one who saved us all. And more than that, the only true Rose.”

I shrugged. “Those are no longer my titles.” I struggled for a moment about whether to tell him anything further, but in the end, I did. “Call me Allina.”

“I-I can’t-”

And then I grabbed him, pulling him back into his chair with an invisible rope of power. “You will call me Allina, or you will not hear my story.”

I could swear I heard a grin in his voice as he nodded in the chair. “Yes, My Lady Allina.”